


A Dawning Carol

by Nemonus



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 09:06:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemonus/pseuds/Nemonus
Summary: The Drifter isn't used to giving, or receiving, Dawning gifts.





	A Dawning Carol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laylaisthename](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylaisthename/gifts).



Drifter jabbed chopsticks into the tangle of noodles and breathed in the rich smell. Hot chicken and cabbage stirred to the surface. Later, he would recount and refine the day’s motes now that the slaughter was done. For now, he closed his eyes, breathed in the smell, and said the first thing that came to mind. “You don’t get ramen like this out in the frontier, do ya?”

The cook and bartender, one Exo and one human, kept focusing on their own work. Another patron had chosen the far side of the bar. Drifter didn’t particularly care if he was talking only to himself, but things did tend to work out …

There. One of his preferred people pulled out the stool next to him with a scrape and a clang. Suraya Hawthorne leaned her elbows on the bar top. Drifter looked around for her raptor and saw a grey speck near the Tower’s top.

“If you can get eggs it can come close,” Hawthorne said calmly, and waved at the human handling the glimmer. 

“That so?” Drifter dug around under the noodles for the juice-soaked half-egg and popped it into his mouth while Hawthorne ordered. 

“Yep. Somebody always ended up having enough spices and salt, somehow, back when I was outside the old Tower.” She narrowed her eyes at him, still a little bit suspicious even if he had fast-talked her into carrying Gambit bounties. “Could’ve used someone with a ship like yours back then.”

“Wasn’t time yet,” Drifter said around the remains of the egg. “If Cayde had asked … but he wouldn’t have been able to find me.”

The Exo pushed a steaming bowl of ramen across the counter to Hawthorne. Drifter eyed the half egg resting against the side of the bowl. Might as well have been the other half of his. Or, no — there was a pink strip of meat beside it. 

He darted the chopsticks into her bowl and picked out the piece of chicken. Hawthorne recoiled, but she had a good keeping-it-together face, all arch and elegant cheekbones. Drifter held his left hand under the piece and conjured a concentrated gout of solar fire; the chicken blackened before anyone at the other side of the bar could see he had done it. Solar fire gave it a spicy char. 

Hawthorne shook her head. “Why is it that when I have a meal with you I’m not sure whether everybody’s going to have all their fingers when they’re done?” 

“Hey.” Drifter licked his lips for the last of the egg. “You said you had a scrap of information?” 

“Yeah.” Hawthorne stared into her bowl. “Dawning’s starting soon. Sometimes the Vanguard asks the vendors to put something together for the Guardians, or to help with decorations. So, since you needed a heads-up on the celebrations, thought I’d give you one.”

Drifter nodded. Through their partnership on bounties she had become the one he could ask about Tower life. Stupid questions got the clearest answers. 

He pointed his chopsticks at her. Fragrant broth spattered across the counter. “What’s the Dawning?” 

“It’s the winter holiday. Gifts, events, decorations … Guardians play in the snow even more than usual. That kind of stuff. You’ve never done that?”

He waved a hand. “Nah.” 

“It’s a good time. Some Guardians even go down to the City and give gifts there. I might go out to the woods, give Louis and I the gift of getting out of civilization for a while.”

Drifter tapped his chin. Gambit didn’t much lend itself to gifts, but maybe he could find a way …

Hawthorne was not letting go of the fact that he hadn’t heard of the Dawning. “Seriously? Never? I thought the tradition was as old as … the Vanguard, or something.” 

“Don’t need it. But thanks for the heads-up in case somebody comes in asking about somethin’ silly.”

Hawthorne stirred some of her noodles into a tangle and ate most of it in one bite. “Mhmm.”

They small-talked after that, but mostly concentrated on the ramen, and Drifter was content to let it be that way.

* * *

He remembered the conversation again weeks later. This time he had been ready for the holiday, not startled by the sudden transformation as he had been when Festival of the Lost began. Gambit was running normally. He stood with sheafs of bounties, rewarding Guardians for dirty work, when Hawthorne came around the corner.

She maneuvered carefully around the two Titans standing in the hallway, then insistently pressed a package into Drifter’s hands. He examined it skeptically. Spice mix, frozen meat wrapped in cloth. He sniffed it. Deer, probably … and the packet crunched around uncooked ramen. 

“Happy Dawning,” Hawthorne said. She glanced at the Titans, then back at him. Unspoken: _I remember you’ve never celebrated before._

“Thanks, sister.” He nodded at her, serious. She’d be okay, if the Tower ever fell again. If anyone was, it would be her. 

She hesitated. 

“Next bowl’s on me,” he said. 

Hawthorne nodded, her sense of fairness assuaged, and dodged away behind the Titans as quick as a Guardian. 

Hawthorne was dangerously close to becoming comfortable with him. This close to the end of the game, with Callum in the ground and the Golden Gun firing so close to the Guardian who _did_ know so much, Drifter couldn’t take chances. It was so _easy_ to come up with a script to push people away, especially because he usually meant it. The Tower had all these unnecessary niceties, bandages over the wound in the world, and, well — Hawthorne usually agreed with him on those. 

Drifter leaned back against the soda machine, considering whether Hawthorne had an ulterior motive, or a coded meaning, or … but for now, that thought could just drift away onward. The ramen crunched pleasantly in his hands. He pressed the packet to his nose and breathed in the smells, making the Guardians wait and glance at each other. 

That bird still circled above him. He waved two fingers at Louis, a messy salute, and went back to work. 


End file.
